The Diary of Sarah Chandler By Karma Dear Diana: A few months ago I received a call from a long-lost cousin. She was an elderly woman, and she had decided to put her life in order before she passed away. She told me that she had in her possession an old diary written during the Civil War era by one of our ancestors, detailing her life during the War and the decades afterward. My cousin asked me if I wanted to take possession of this diary, and, of course, I said "Of course." The diary is a fascinating document that I believe will be of much interest to you and your faithful readers. Over the last several weeks, I have been transcribing and editing the diary. It is old, with some pages barely legible and some missing completely. This is an ongoing project, and as I get portions transcribed I will send them on to you for publication. I have in many cases edited out the more mundane parts of her writing, as I do not believe that we need a day-by-day description of the weather in the South during the 1860’s, do we? Be aware, though - The author of the dairy uses several terms for African-Americans that are now considered pejorative. I have not edited these since their use is integral to an understanding of both the writer and her life. The diary is an amazing testimonial to the power (literal, at times) of love and friendship, respect and spirit, determination and courage during difficult times. It is a fitting tribute to two women you will come to know - Sarah and Queenie. With regards, Karma The Diary of Sarah Chandler January 1, 1858 Dear Diary, Here I sit at my desk in my bedroom, writing for the very first time in my own private and most secret diary. Mother and Father gave it to me for Christmas last. They told me that I should use to write down the important events in my life, all my thoughts and wishes and dreams, as well as anything else that may strike my fancy. I shall! Mother and Father both pledged that they would respect my privacy and not try to read any of my writings, and I shall hold them to their promise. Mother even said that she had kept a diary when she was young. Father raised an amused eyebrow at that and asked when he might be allowed to read it. Mother told him rather primly that there were things a young woman thought and dreamed about that were hers alone, and upon which no one, male or female, should ever intrude. Father laughed and threw up his hands in defeat as Mother and I exchanged a smile. January 5, 1858 Dear Diary, It is late at night, and both Father and Mother are asleep. Father has been working very hard recently, and he returns to the house very late and very tired. I heard him complaining to Mother that his darkies, Ned and John, were getting too old for the work that needed to be done. He and Mother talked about buying another hand. I do not know what was decided. January 16, 1858 Dear Diary, I have told some of my friends at school about your existence, dear diary. They are excited about it and several of the girls said that they would like to do such a thing as well. I fear that I may have started something new at school! Of course, the boys all sneer at such an idea. I retorted that few boys have either the knowledge or ability to keep such a document in any event. That horrid Jeremy McCandless said that he couldn’t wait until he could sneak a look at you to see which of the boys I most favored. I told him that it most certainly would not be him! January 18, 1858 Dear Diary, I seldom see Father anymore. It appears that he may go into town next week for the auction. Mother has been cross and unhappy as well. She says that Desdemona has been lax in her duties recently. Supper last night was late and practically inedible and Mother complained. Desdemona was her usual sullen self and Mother told Father later that Desdemona was getting too uppity. Father tried to calm Mother, but she was cross all evening. I finally went for a walk, going down along the lane past the Quarters to the back field. Mother would scold me if she knew that I took my shoes and stockings off to walk barefooted. She says that that will make my feet even bigger than they are, and that a real lady would never go barefoot. Well, diary, perhaps I will never be a lady! February 2, 1858 Dear Diary, Desdemona scolded me again today. She caught me running through the downstairs hallway. "Missy Sarah!" she scolded, "You act more like a young boy than a young girl! Stop that at once or I will tell your Mother!" Mother is right - Desdemona is getting uppity and I hate her sometimes. I wish we could get a new cook. Father and Mother talked again about whether we could afford another boy. Father said that he would see. Later, after checking on the horses, I sneaked out and went down by the Quarters. Old Victor was playing his fiddle and I listened for a while. He played some fast tunes that I like, but later they all sang some of their other songs. The songs all sounded so sad. I wonder why they seem to be so sad? We treat them well. They eat as good or better than we do. They have a home and their work. What more do they want? February 4, 1858 Dear Diary, I helped Desdemona with some of her chores today. She told me that I shouldn’t help, but I told her that I could do anything I wanted to do. I helped get water from the well. The pail is so heavy when it is full! I managed to carry it without spilling much, and received rather grudging thanks from Desdemona. February 18, 1858 News, Dear Diary! Yesterday Father came home with new darkies! Father says that the buck, whose name is King, will be the top hand in the fields, as he has a reputation as a good worker. Neither he nor his wife are known as troublemakers, which is good. Mother was pleased that the woman, Naomi, knows how to cook and clean. She can, Mother said, become one of the house niggers if she proves she can perform those tasks. Father said that they have a daughter as well. Father then said that it was good to have a husband-wife pair (even if they are not really married) since they have other things to keep themselves occupied. He then winked at Mother, who blushed and hushed him, which I didn’t really understand. March 3, 1858 Dear Diary, I turned thirteen today! Mother invited several neighbors over for a party. Desdemona and Naomi made a splendid lunch, which was almost spoiled when that horrid Jeremy McCandless made a scene. I will not let that ruin my day, however. Mother said that it would not be long now before I have suitors. Somehow, that thought does not excite me as much as I had thought it would. If all boys are like Jeremy, I will be very happy spending all my days without being chased by one as rude as he. March 10, 1858 Dear Diary, A very curious thing happened today. After I finished my chores in the stables with the horses, I went for a walk down by the Quarters. Our new buck, King, was chopping wood near their shack. There was also a girl standing nearby, helping him by removing the split wood as it fell under his axe. The man stepped into their shack as I happened by. The girl, who I assume must be their daughter, looked at me as I approached. She stood up straight, and I noticed that she was tall, perhaps as tall as I am, and she held her head high. She watched me boldly and curiously as I stopped. I kept my eyes on hers, waiting for her to drop her gaze and curtsy politely in greeting. She did neither, however, which is what was so curious. She kept staring at me and I kept staring at her. It was as if we were having a sort of contest to see who could stare longer. Oddly, I was not upset at her boldness and impertinence, but was strangely excited by our little contest. Unfortunately, her father came back outside and interrupted us. Seeing her father (if that is what he really is), the girl curtsied nicely, and I just nodded at them and hurried on, knees suddenly surprisingly weak. March 20, 1858 Dear Diary, Today I found out that King and Naomi’s daughter is named Queenie. I don’t know if Queenie is her real name or if it is a joke based on her father’s name. I was down in the kitchen when Desdemona and Naomi were making lunch. Desdemona did most of the talking, as she usually does. Mother says that she most probably talks in her sleep, and I giggle a bit at that thought. Naomi is much quieter. I cannot tell if she is actually listening to Desdemona or is away in her own dreams where no one else may visit. At one point in her prattling, Desdemona asked Naomi if her daughter would like to come and visit the house. Naomi glanced somewhat nervously at me, but I was curious as to what she would say, so I did not scold Desdemona for putting on airs and issuing invitations she had no business issuing. Naomi quietly said that Queenie (which is when I learned her name) was a girl who liked the outdoors. Nothing more was said, and I soon drifted out of the room, rather interested in a girl who preferred being outside to being inside. April 3, 1858 Dear Diary, Today I went down to the well to get a bucket of water for a bath. As I went down the path I realized that someone was already busy at the well. When I turned the last corner I realized that it was Queenie. She stopped her work and we looked at each other for a moment. The look she gave me was steady and direct. For a time I was tempted to resume our contest from before, but I must admit I was somewhat apprehensive about being alone with one of the workers. I was not scared, though, diary! I smiled at her and glanced over at the well. I asked if I might get a bucket of water. I saw that she relaxed at my pleasant tone. I then asked if her name was really Queenie, and she nodded, seemingly surprised that I should know it. I rather off-handedly commented that I tried to learn the names of all our darkies. I was looking at her when I said this, and was startled and a little annoyed as her smile faded and her eyes sparked. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but then closed it instead. Her smile returned, but it seemed less real than it had been before. She turned away to retrieve her bucket, and when she hoisted it up I almost gasped out loud. Her bare brown arm suddenly swelled with a round hard muscle as she lifted the heavy pail out and gently set it down. She saw my reaction and smiled - a little smugly, I thought. My pride was injured and I determined to show off a bit myself. Brushing past her I turned the winch lowering the pail, then raised it again. Knowing that Queenie was watching my every move, I took great pains not to let the effort show on my face. When the bucket was raised, I lifted it as smoothly as I could and set it on the ground next to hers. I straightened and our eyes met. I could see surprise and amused acknowledgement in her expression, which made me feel unusually good. It was as if a message was passed between us. I wonder... April 5, 1858 Dear Diary, I am afraid I am not being much of a lady, at least not last night. I am afraid that I could not stop thinking about the sight of Queenie’s muscled arm. I lay in bed thinking, and as I thought I could not help but take my hand and place it on my own upper arm. I pretended I was lifting a great weight and tensed my muscles. I felt my arm grow larger and harder under my fingers. With quickening breath I arose from my bed and lit a lamp. I carried it over to my mirror. I pushed up the sleeve of my nightdress and tensed my muscle again. A small bulge appeared in my arm, though not as large a one as Queenie had displayed. I poked it, rather surprised at how hard it was. I took another look and resolved that, no matter how unladylike it may be, I would endeavor to make it grow even larger. May 9, 1858 Dear Diary, My goodness, it has been quite some time since I have last written here. Time has almost slipped away from me and I must do better. I have continued in my efforts to grow stronger. School and household chores take much of my time, but I have found that I can practice my arm-growing exercises anywhere. I simply press against an immovable object and it is as if I was lifting a heavy weight. No one knows that I am doing this, so I can do it at school, at home, in my room, or anywhere. At school I press down with my arm against the desk, all the while looking at Teacher as if I were fascinated by what she was saying. I must say, diary, that at times I am embarrassed and disgusted by my actions, and try to tell myself that my behavior is very unladylike. But then a vision of Queenie comes before my sight and it is as if I cannot help myself! Of course, I will not (and cannot) talk to Mother about this. May 20, 1858 Dear Diary, Last evening I shamelessly went and loitered by the well. I had not seen Queenie in quite some time and I felt compelled to make her acquaintance again. My wishes came true. I went to the well, lowered the bucket, and then just waited. Soon I heard steps on the path and I slowly began turning the handle. I was pleased to see that it was she! She stopped when she saw me, and then came forward, a tentative smile on her face. I greeted her cheerfully, then, using only one arm slowly and carefully lifted out the brimming pail and set it down. Her eyes widened at the ease I displayed and I felt great satisfaction. Then, with a slight smile, Queenie put in her own bucket. Raising it back up she looked directly at me and effortlessly held the pail with her right arm. She purposely held it out longer than was necessary before gently lowering it. I felt a stab of disappointment that her long sleeves hid that oddly exciting muscular arm. I was also disappointed that it seemed as if Queenie is still stronger than I am, and well aware of that fact. June 6, 1858 Dear Diary, School is over at last and I am finally free from the teasing and torments of that horrid Jeremy McCandless! Dear diary, today he tried to kiss me! He sneaked up on me when I was alone in the cloakroom. He grabbed me and tried to kiss me with his horrid puckered lips. When he pushed me back against the wall, I grew so angry that I pushed him back. To both my surprise and his, I pushed him away from me. He struggled, his eyes wide in shock at the strength of my grip on his arms. I pushed him back, overcoming his futile resistance, until he was pressed against the opposite wall, unable to move. I brought my face close to his and stared into his now scared eyes. I told him that if he ever tried to kiss me again I would throw him to the floor and sit on him and then call everyone in to witness his humiliation. And after that I would tell my father what he had done, and Father would have him horsewhipped! When I finally released him, he ran crying from the room, which was a very satisfactory result. On the way home I thanked goodness for my arm-growing exercises. June 15, 1858 Dear Diary, I have been torn between two conflicting feelings for quite some time. On one hand, I enjoy the new energy and strength I have since I began my exercises. I can do more things more easily. Even Desdemona has commented on it and Naomi smiles at me when I perform some chore that caused me difficulty earlier. I should also explain, dear diary, that I am in a somewhat different position than most young girls of my class and status. Most girls my age remain inside all day, only reluctantly venturing out beneath swaths of clothes or umbrellas. They do very few household chores, leaving it all to their house niggers. They go to parties, or have parties, but never do actual work. That snobbish Miss O’Hara, of Tara, often sneers at my tanned face and my robust appearance. I, however, enjoy working! Mother and Father, while they do not actually encourage my interest in physical work, do nothing to actively discourage me either. If they could see my arms, however, they may be upset. I am getting very strong. I think I will soon go and visit the Quarters again. June 20, 1858 Dear Diary, This evening I went boldly to the Quarters and walked right up to King and Naomi’s shack. I had never stopped there before, although I often walk past. I knocked at the door and Naomi soon answered. She was startled and alarmed that I should be there. I quickly reassured her that nothing was wrong. I told her that I desired help carrying water from the well and that I further desired that her daughter, Queenie, should come and help me. Naomi looked at me a little strangely but summoned Queenie from wherever she was in their hovel. From what I could see it was a small building, with old blankets serving to separate rooms. Queenie immediately came from behind one of the curtains and looked at me in surprise. Her mother told her what was needed, and within a few minutes we were walking together towards the well. I chattered (a little nervously, I must confess, dear diary!) about very normal things and we neared the well. Queenie quickly went and drew a bucket of water. As I watched her pull the pail out, she turned and caught me watching her. Somehow it was as if she knew just what was on my mind. She set the pail down, then carefully removed her light jacket, exposing her bare arms. Looking directly at me, she picked the bucket up again. With a broad smile she held it out so I could see her muscles swell from the strain. "You are very strong," I finally stammered. "You are, too," she replied in a low voice. "I have seen you lift things when you think no one is looking." I was both surprised and pleased at her statement. I hesitated for a moment, then continued, "I wonder which of us is stronger?" Her smile grew even wider and she shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe we can find out," she said. "Have you ever played the Hand Game?" I shook my head. "It is a game the older men play sometimes," she explained. She led me over to a nearby tree stump. She knelt on one side and motioned me to kneel by the other. She put her elbow on the stump, as did I. She gripped my hand and I realized that the object of this game was to force the other’s arm down until their hand touched the stump’s surface. She grinned at me, her eyes suddenly gleaming with excitement, and I realized that I was just as excited about this as she was. I smiled back, and we began. For several seconds our arms remained almost motionless as we matched our strength. I gloried in all the feelings I was experiencing at that moment - the feel of her strong hand in mine, the feel of my muscles finally straining against something other than an inanimate object, the sight of Queenie’s arm swelling from the effort. I pushed even harder and I heard her grunt under her breath. "You are strong," she said with a note of surprise. "But not strong enough!" Saying this she began to force my arm down towards the stump. I struggled, but I could not resist her power, and after several more seconds I felt the back of my hand touch the rough surface. I jumped to my feet. Queenie rose as well, the look on her face telling me that she had just become aware of what she had done to her master’s daughter. She suddenly looked scared and the gleam faded from her eyes. I didn’t know what to think - or what to do, so I quickly turned and ran down the path to the house. Oh, diary, what should I do? I enjoyed it so much, but...